


Interrogation/Negotiation

by SouthronWildling



Series: On the King's Road [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Porn with Feelings, dubcon? it's done with love, if that makes a difference, these are some conflicted people, this pair has too many issues to work out in a fic like this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-07 07:21:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19080214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthronWildling/pseuds/SouthronWildling
Summary: Jaime and Bronn continue towards Winterfell and the army of the dead.





	1. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bronn and Jaime continue north, eating squirrels and camping out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all want some Bronn POV?

When Bronn woke up, the skies outside the window were the grey-blue of predawn. Jaime was still asleep and making little _hink hink_ snoring sounds. Bronn rolled over, propped his head head up on his hand, and watched him sleep for a few minutes. He could see his eyes moving beneath the closed lids, and a faint worry line creased between his eyebrows. He wondered briefly if he'd made a mistake the night before. It was too soon, really, after Cersei. But no, Jaime needed to feel wanted, and he'd been waiting for a long time, and he wasn't going to waste time now. A few moments later, the worry line smoothed out, and Jaime pulled one leg up so that his knee pressed against Bronn's leg. His lips quirked up in a small smile and he brushed his hand across Jaime's hair just above his ear, and then rolled over and climbed out of bed.

'Not a maid, but not far from it,' he thought as he stretched and then found his braies where they'd been tossed onto the floor during the night. He grabbed a rag and gave himself a once-over with the cold bathwater, standing beside the tub rather than getting in, then pulled them on before quietly unbarring and opening the door. The plates from last night had disappeared and an earthenware jug of water had replaced them. He took it back into the room and set about washing his face and teeth, and finished getting dressed.

All the while he was getting ready for the day, his mind was musing over what had occurred the night before. 'Twice with some man. Or once with two different men? No, he's too skittish for that. Cersei, of course. Any other women?' But as he racked his brain over the last few years, he couldn't think of a single time Jaime had sought a woman at all. Even at Riverrun, he'd set Bronn up with two serving girls (and what a night _that_ had been), but hadn't taken one for himself. He'd thought then it was devotion to his sister. Now he wondered.

Bronn had been attracted ever since he'd been called upon to spar with him. Attracted, but he wasn't about to act on anything with him. It wasn't until Dorne, when he'd seen Jaime's eyes linger a little too long on certain men, and not in a sizing-you-up-for-a-fight way, that he'd actually entertained the thought that Jaime might not be as opposed to the idea as he'd previously imagined. Still, there'd been no good opportunities to try anything. When Myrcella had died, he'd held Jaime as he cried and felt his own heart breaking in response, and he knew then that it wasn't just a passing itch. But the timing was bad, and he'd let it pass. At Riverrun, he'd been too remote, too unapproachable, after his conversation with Brienne, and then there were those girls, and well...

Well, then there was Highgarden. But before a battle wasn't usually a good time, and they had no privacy, and Jaime had been distracted with battleplans and flippant with him. Afterwards, they had to see the loot train safely to King's Landing, but the Dothraki horde and a dragon had ended that endeavor. They'd barely made it out alive.

So now they were here, and he knew he'd only acted on it because Jaime had said he was done with her even though he knew full well that done with and over it weren't the same thing, and he wondered what Jaime would be like, on the morning after. Bronn didn't make a habit of spending the night in the same room with casual trysts, but he'd seen quite a few variations on the theme. Some got all flustered and regretful. Some woke up thinking it was more than it was, and he had to somehow both reassure them and also make it clear that nothing else would be forthcoming, all at the same time. He hated those. Some were businesslike, indifferent, as they got dressed and said goodbye. Jaime wasn't casual, and the night before hadn't been casual, but he wondered how he'd be now that the sun was coming up.

He was shoving his feet into his boots when Jaime said, "Morning."

Bronn turned and looked at him, still laying in the bed and blinking sleepily in the sunlight that was just starting to stream through the window.

"Morning," he said, and wriggled his ankle, settling the boot around his foot and getting the knife hidden there into the right position. He dipped his hand towards Jaime's pack, where he knew a sack of coins was lodged. "I can go get us kitted out for the next leg, while you get up?"

Jaime nodded, and Bronn took out enough money for food, plus a bit more in case the woman from last night was as greedy as before. "Alright then, I'll meet you at the stable. We'll eat on the road," he said. He'd nearly reached the door when he heard Jaime's voice.

"Erm, before you go," Jaime said.

'Here it comes,' Bronn thought, and turned around.

"Can you help me with this?" Jaime had sat up and the blanket was twisted around his waist, but his feet were on the floor and his bare legs and chest were almost glowing in the morning light. He'd picked up his hand from off the floor and was holding it with a slightly embarrassed look on his face.

"You could just leave it off," he said, but he was already crossing the floor and fixing the straps. Jaime didn't look at him.

"I came upstairs with two gloved hands. If I came back down with only one, someone might notice and think it passing strange."

Bronn snorted at that. "Need any help with the rest?" he asked. Jaime shook his head but still didn't look at him and Bronn was at a loss for a moment. If Jaime had seemed flustered and nervous, or upset, or _something_ , he could have dealt with it. This tight, drawn-in, looking at anything except him reaction was one Bronn had never anticipated. He laid his hand over Jaime's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Are you alright?"

Jaime finally lifted his head. Bright green eyes met his, searching, questioning. Bronn looked back, and relief washed over him when Jaime's face relaxed a bit and he nodded slightly.

"Yes," Jaime said. "I think so."

 

 

\---

 

 

They were alright. But Jaime didn't seek him out, and Bronn thought it best to wait until he did. They rode for three days, stopping an hour before sundown to collect firewood and pitch Jaime's tent, which was small and designed to be very low, so that you could barely even sit upright in it, and their bedrolls only just fit inside, with their saddlebags and packs making an incomplete door across the opening at their feet. They started their evenings not touching, and if an arm was thrown across a body in the morning, it was only due to lack of space. Bronn knew better, but he also knew better than to remark on it. He'd woken this third morning of travel after the inn with Jaime holding his hand, their joined fingers up under Jaime's chin. He wondered how much longer he could wait for Jaime to come to a decision.

The sun was starting to set, and Bronn saw a squirrel up ahead, perched on a log. He eased his knife out of his boot, waited a moment, and then threw with a practiced flick of his wrist. The squirrel fell behind the log, and he dismounted and cast his eyes about for a good campsite. At least they were still near enough to the Green Fork of the Trident that tributaries and creeks were abundant. There was a creek just off to the northwest, and he led his horse towards it, scooping up the squirrel and cleaning his knife as he went.

There was little need to talk. A clearing was found, not far from the rushing water, and he gutted and skinned the squirrel as Jaime dragged firewood in and piled it. It was a matter of minutes to set up the tent and drag the bedrolls inside.

"Thought you'd have used one of your arrows, at least, for supper," Jaime said. He'd been arranging their packs at the tent opening and looking particularly jaunty, with a feather he'd found earlier tucked into a strap. He took the feather out and twirled it in his fingers as Bronn stripped the squirrel of its skin and then skewered it along a stick.

Bronn smiled to himself; Jaime never wanted to actually look at where his food came from. He set up the campfire and then spitted the squirrel at the side to cook.  
"I don't waste arrows on tree rats. What is that, blue jay?" he asked, taking his knife out and cleaning it before dragging it against a wetstone.

"Mockingbird, I think," Jaime answered. His cheeks were rough and pink in the cold air, and Bronn thought he'd rarely looked so beautiful as he did there, in the setting sunlight, with the wintery scene around them. "I thought I might go wash, but I'm more likely to freeze to death."

"You won't freeze if you're quick. Scrub off, rinse down, and then find your furs. Eat and drink and warm up after. I did, beyond the Wall, in worse cold than this. You just have to be fast about it," Bronn answered.

"You went beyond the Wall?"

Bronn nodded. "Work," he said, but he didn't elaborate. Being a sellsword on a smuggler's ship, trading furs for iron to the wildlings, wasn't a trade that he wanted to mention. Jaime probably thought he was from Flea Bottom, never even marking his Northron accent. They'd never discussed his past much.

He turned the squirrel on the spit. "Go wash. I intend to do the same later. Just be quick."

 

 

\---

 

 

Bruised apples, nearly burnt squirrel. It could have been worse. Jaime was dressed in fresh clothing and had piled furs around him until he was nearly unrecognizable, a lump of body and covers and wet hair. Bronn chuckled to himself; he should have told Jaime not to bother washing his hair. But the other man had, and now he had a hood of some kind of fur draped loosely over his head, and he was still shivering even though he was sitting so close next to the fire that it was a wonder the furs he'd wrapped around him didn't ignite in protest.

"Cold?" he asked, quirking his eyebrows at him.

"Freezing. You really went beyond the wall?" Bronn heard the quiver in his voice and the slight chatter of his teeth. Jaime was still much colder than he really should be.

"Aye. Wildlings are... different. Easier than talking to you southrons, but still. They have their own ways. Settle down for sleep. I'm going to go wash."

"I thought you were southron," Jaime said, his voice drifting across the campsite as he maneuvered himself into the tent and into bed.

"No. I was born near Moat Caillin," he answered.

 

 

\--

 

 

Jaime's legs were entwined with his and Jaime's arm was around his body, and he was sleepily wrapping his arm around the man when he woke up enough to know what was happening. Jaime's head was under his chin. They had their chests pressed close together, and when Bronn flexed his leg, it pressed against Jaime's thigh. Jaime was still asleep, though, stretching a little as he woke up, tipping his head upwards and Bronn caught his lips and kissed him before he was fully conscious. 'I want you,' he thought, but after a moment he controlled himself and drew himself away a little.

Jaime stretched, though, still mostly asleep, chasing him as he retreated, and kissed him back. He felt Jaime's arm sliding around him and let himself be pulled back in.

"Where are you going?" Jaime asked, his voice slurring sleepily.

"North," he said, then cursed inwardly. Stupid answer, he meant right now. But Jaime just squeezed him a little tighter and rubbed his head against Bronn's shoulder and a memory of a barn cat butting its head against his leg while he cleaned a saddle flashed through his mind. 'Lions, huh?' he thought, and stroked his hand down Jaime's back, the fabric of the tunic catching a little on the rough callouses below his fingers.

"Bronn?" Jaime's voice didn't sound sleepy anymore.

"Nm?"

"What are we doing?"

Bronn wished it was daylight so he could look at Jaime's face and get a better read on what he might be thinking. But it was still the middle of the night, and he couldn't see more than the barest difference of dark shapes against a dark background. He sighed.

"Jaime, do you like what we're doing?"

Jaime's head nodded against his shoulder.

"Then why do we need to talk it to death?"

"You said before, that dragons are where our partnership ends. There'll be dragons at Winterfell. I don't know what they'll do when they find out Cersei lied about the army."

Bronn thought for a moment. "Tyrion asked me to be his champion, when he was on trial. I told him I wouldn't fight the Mountain, that it was too big of a risk if I made a mistake. Wouldn't risk my life for his again. I told him that I liked him, but I liked myself more. Do you really think I jumped in front of dragonfire, just because I wanted a castle?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Hate it? Leave me a comment either way; I love to hear what you've got to say!


	2. Questioning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime's septa impression is too much for Bronn to handle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the updated rating.

Bronn groaned before he even opened his eyes the next time he woke. Jaime was still nestled against him, and they were warm under the furs, even with a touch of cold seeping from the ground through the padding of the bedrolls, and a little light was shining into the tent through the gap between the tent opening and their packs. But he knew before he even sat up that the light was wrong. It had a soft, almost eerie glow that only meant one thing, and the hissing sound that he'd awakened to only confirmed their predicament.

"Whassit?" Jaime mumbled.

"Snow," he said, and slipped out from under the covers and moved to the tent's door in a shuffling crouch.

Snow was sifting down over their campsite: fat, lacy snowflakes that were stuck together in clumps as they fell, pouring out of the sky and swirling in the breeze, then driven sideways as the wind gusted for a moment. Their packs were encrusted with it. The day before, maybe a finger's depth of snow had been on the ground. Now, it might be halfway to knee-deep, and the clouds overhead had that dark, thundery look that meant this could turn into a eye-blinding blizzard, or bury them in drifts before stopping. Bronn grimaced. He had hoped they'd be closer to Winterfell before encountering weather like this, if not already there.

"We're going to lose a day of travel. Maybe two. No, stay there. No sense in both of us getting cold, and I don't feel it the way you do," he said when Jaime started to get up. Bronn shoved his feet into his boots a bit awkwardly, crouched over as he was. He threw his cloak over his shoulders and pulled the hood up, grabbed a waterskin, then shoved a pack out of the way and tried to scrape the snow that fell onto his bedroll from it back out of the tent as he left.

  
The horses whooshed at him when they saw him stand up. He untied them from the tree and led them down to the creek, then broke the ice at the edge with the heel of his boot so he could fill the waterskin. The horses drank while Bronn pissed, and he managed to write a B and then an R in the snow before he ruined it with an O that looked like a squashed U when the wind gusted again.

He tied the horses under a pine that had denser branches and provided better cover. The ground underneath still had grass showing through the scant snowcover there, and the horses immediately began pawing the snow away with their hooves and eating. From the outside, the tent was thickly blanketed with snow, and he was thankful that at least that was one small consolation. A fire would be impossible in this storm, but the snow insulated and the tent would be warm enough with them in it, provided the temperature didn't plummet.

Jaime was sitting in the doorway when he reached it, trying to knock the snow from his boots before he clambered back inside, barefoot.

"Thought I said to stay put," Bronn commented, doing the same, and after he'd brushed the worst of the snow from his cloak, he took it off, draped it across the packs on the inside of the tent, and shoved them so that the opening was almost completely blocked off.

"I needed to visit a tree," Jaime said, and the primness in his voice had Bronn laughing before he could even think.

"You sound like a septa," he said, coughing a little as his laughter died down. He took a swig of water and held the waterskin out to Jaime.

  
Jaime drank, but narrowed his eyes at him and Bronn couldn't help but grin. Halting as it had been, their midnight conversation had shifted things somehow, and when Jaime recapped the waterskin and grabbed him, Bronn let him pull him down onto his back so that Jaime could push him down against the bedroll and press his lips just below his ear.

"A septa wouldn't do that," Jaime said as he sat up again.

Bronn sat up as well. He considered the food they had in their bags that could be eaten without heating it first. "Are you hungry?"

  
"Maybe in a while," Jaime said, shaking his head. "Feel free to break your fast without me." He was rubbing his forearm with his left hand. The little silk cap was a bright spot of crimson in the dim tent, standing out against the greys and duns and browns and blacks of their clothing and furs.

Bronn shuffled over to their packs, but it was a bottle of oil he drew out rather than bread or cheese. It was Dornish; the kind rich lords and ladies liked to put chopped herbs into and use it as a dip for their bread. It had cost more than he'd liked at the inn at the crossroads, but he wasn't going to pass it up; he just wished he'd thought to buy some in King's Landing where it would have been cheaper. He uncorked it and poured a little into his palm, then set the bottle aside and rubbed his hands together, spreading and warming it between his palms.

"Here," he said. "Take off your tunic and that little silk thing. It's warm enough in here."

Jaime looked at him inquisitively, green eyes almost glittering in the half-light, but after a moment, he pulled the tunic over his head and plucked the silk cap from his stump. He sat with a slightly uncomfortable expression on his face, eyebrows drawn together and jaw clenched, crosslegged on his bedroll and cradling his arm in his lap.

Bronn shifted back towards him and took the forearm in his hands, above the stump where his wrist should have been, and slid his hands up toward the elbow, pressing firmly. Jaime hissed breath in, but when he darted his eyes at his face, it wasn't an expression of pain, and so he continued on, pushing his thumbs and fingers up towards his elbow and then back down again, working through the tension in the muscles there. After a few slow back and forth motions, he switched to small circles and Jaime leaned forward and eventually pressed his forehead against his shoulder. Bronn shifted his hands upwards and began working on his bicep in the same manner.

He drew his hands down, gripping firmly and sliding down to pull as much of the tension out as he was able, past Jaime's elbow, through the forearm, and to the stump and then off, being careful not to touch the sensitive bits at the end, where the scar tissue was thickest. Jaime sighed.

"How did you learn to do that?"

Bronn shrugged and repeated the long, slow pull. "A bit from Pyke, more from Sandstone," he answered. "Turn around if you want more."

Jaime did, so Bronn set to work on his shoulders and upper back, adding a bit more oil when his hands started to drag against the smooth skin there. Jaime had knots that had probably been there for most of his life, and he felt rather than heard the crackling as some of the knots broke up and the muscles smoothed out and the snow hissed down against the tent. Jaime sighed and whimpered and moaned by turns and Bronn's hands were starting to ache when he switched to smooth passes across his skin, gentling him back down. Decades of knots and tension weren't going to be completely eased in one morning. So he stroked his back, pressing the heels of his palms in firmly but not hard, gradually decreasing the pressure, and Jaime leaned back into his chest as his hands stilled.

"Better?" he asked, and it was a proud thrill of gratification that ran through him when Jaime just made a small high-pitched sound in response. He threaded his arms around him and then they were laying on their sides, calm and quiet in the tent, with Jaime's back against his chest in the half-light of a snowfall, and the air in the tent was warm, even without a fire.

"You're different," Jaime said after a little while. They'd been laying quiet against the furs and had shifted so that their legs were covered at least, but hadn't really spoken.

"Oh?" he asked. He drew his hand up Jaime's chest and down again and resisted the urge to tweak his nipple when he felt it harden under his fingertips.

"Yes. Cersei... I know you don't want to hear about her. But. It was about her, do you understand? Even when I sought her out, if I started it, it was still her that was really in control. She liked to say no, even when she said yes. It was all about control, but I loved her and I wanted to give her what she wanted. And Arthur...," Jaime broke off there, and Bronn pressed his lips against the nape of his neck, just a quick touch.

'Arthur,' he thought. 'Dayne?' But he voiced a small noise of encouragement and continued to stroke his hand up and down Jaime's chest and abdomen. He wanted to hear it, and the smooth skin under his palm was too much of an enticement in any case.

"It was right after he knighted me," Jaime said, and Bronn knew then that his suspicion was accurate. "I'd thought about him for months, but then when it finally happened, he kissed me once and then.. well. It wasn't what I thought it would be."

"What did he use?" Bronn asked, and he knew his voice had gone hoarse and his dick had swelled up just thinking about it but he shifted a little to keep it away from Jaime because he didn't want to be distracted.

"Besides me?" Jaime asked, taking that sardonic tone that Bronn loved for its witty sarcasm but hated because it was almost only ever brought out to hide pain. "I went back, you realize, went back for more. And it was the same. And then I went back a third time, and he had one of Lord Crakehall's squires with him."

Bronn's heart clenched in his chest. He ran his hand up Jaime's torso and settled his hand over Jaime's shoulder, pulling him in.

"I meant, what did he use for slick?" he asked, voice gone low and hoarse. He sat up a little and propped his head up on his hand, looking down at Jaime laying on his side below him. The close crop of his hair exposed the tiny whorl where his hair spun around at the back of his head. Bronn pressed his fingers over it and then slid his hand down his skull, across his neck, to his shoulder.

Jaime had his King's Landing face on. His mouth pursed in upper-class disgust when he said, "He used spit?" It was the Septa look, the too-proper voice. Bronn groaned and pressed his forehead against Jaime's hair. He was so angry and he couldn't strike out, and he was so pushed to comfort he wasn't sure how to stroke. One of his hands caught Jaime's upper arm and he gripped it, squeezing, before he relaxed and rubbed up into Jaime's shoulder, then pulled so that Jaime turned onto his back and looked at him.

"He should have known better than that. He was from _Dorne_ ," Bron told him. 'Or he did know better, and just didn't care,' Bronn thought, 'considering he'd jumped from Jaime to a fucking squire.'

"What does that matter?" Jaime asked. He was frowning up at him, eyes guarded, with that little worry line between his eyebrows.

"Oh, it matters," he said, and he leaned down and pressed a light kiss to Jaime's lips before he sat up, drawing his legs up and wrapping his arms loosely around his knees. "A quick and dirty fuck can be a fine thing. Spit can work, although it's never been my favorite," he continued with a shrug. "But with someone who's used to it, who has experience. A man can go hopping from one bed to another, and that's fine, as long as everyone knows that's all it is. But someone like you, that never had before, with almost no warmup, and in love with him, besides? No. That is not alright, and he damned well should have known better. He might as well have thrown you down and had you it whether you wanted to or not."

"It wasn't like - I wasn't - he," Jaime stammered. His face was bright red and he took a deep breath and sat up as well. "I was not in love with him," he said quietly. "And it wasn't like that. I wanted to, and I liked it, and I went back for more. It just wasn't what I thought it would be."

"Because he didn't do it properly. I bet you were fucking beautiful then; I wish I could've seen you. And he just-" Bronn broke off with a scoffing sound and shook his head.

"Would you have? Back then."

"Back then?" Bronn echoed and then shook his head with a little laugh. "Probably not. You think I'm an arse now, but you didn't know me in my youth."

Jaime smirked and pulled him by the tunic, laying back down and drawing Bronn over him. Bronn shifted over, a little surprised when Jaime parted his legs and let him settle in. He ran a hand up Jaime's chest and then along the edge of his shoulder, following it with his lips, and heard his breathing catch a little.

"This is nice," Jaime said, his voice low.

"Mhmm. You want more?"

"Like the other night? Not the rest of it."

Bronn captured his lips and pressed into him firmly, sliding his tongue in to tease against Jaime's when he opened his mouth. It was a slow kiss, full of desire but not urgent, questioning and tasting, and when he pulled back, Jaime was staring up at him with eyes that showed almost no green at all, his pupils were so large and dark.

"Like the other night, but a little different," Bronn said, and leaned down to kiss him again. Jaime was more demanding this time, nipping at his lips with his teeth and running his fingers up Bronn's back, and Bronn had to sit up after a few moments.

"Just a second," he said, and pulled his own tunic off before untying his breeches and adjusting himself. He was half hard already. Jaime was breathing heavily and when Bronn reached out to untie his lacings, Jaime was pushing them down his hips before he could get the knot loose. They wound up in a tangle of fabric shoved against the packs in the tent doorway, and Bronn had to move fast to save the bottle of oil, which nearly got knocked over.

He trickled a little of the oil onto his fingers after taking a quick glance at his fingernails, but Jaime's face when he looked back up made him pause.

"I'm still not going to fuck you."

"Then why...?"

"D'ya think I want to hurt you?" he asked and quickly corked the bottle. He ran his un-oiled hand up Jaime's thigh and across the hipbones, traced the muscles of his stomach, avoiding his cock where it lay stiff and pink and looking just as pretty as he'd imagined it would.

"You did hit me in the face with my own hand."

Bronn chuckled and leaned down and breathed against the smooth skin between Jaime's hipbone and the edge of his public hair. "That was years ago, and we were sparring," he said, pressing his mouth against him and sucking in. Jaime's moan in response was all he needed to hear, and when he drew back, the small bruise he'd left behind looked like a strawberry. He wrapped his hand around Jaime's cock at the base, tighter with his pinky and ring fingers, and gave it a slow pull, letting his first two fingers slide over the top and then back down again. Moisture was already starting to bead up at the tip, and it increased as he repeated the motion a few more times.

He shifted into a more comfortable position and swiped his tongue across the offering and felt himself straining against his half-laced breeches. 'Later,' he thought. He slid his hand back to the base and his mouth down Jaime's length. It took a moment to find the rhythm Jaime seemed to like best but he knew it when he found it. 'Not so shy now, are ya?' ran through his head. 'Well, maybe still a little shy,' because although Jaime was making the most arousing breathy gasps and moans, he'd also thrown his right arm across his face and was hiding his eyes. Bronn had to pause a moment to grin, then redoubled his efforts.

Jaime didn't seem to notice his oiled fingers trailing up the inside of his thigh, but when he pressed them firmly against the flat patch of skin below his balls, he sat up halfway with a strangled cry. Bronn lifted his head.

"Like that?" he asked, moving his fingers in a small circle. Jaime still had a slightly panicky look on his face, but he took a shuddering breath and nodded uncertainly before he lay back down. Bronn just swirled his tongue around the head of Jaime's cock and then sucked him back in, circling his fingers as before and then switching to a back and forth motion, up towards his balls and down again in time with his mouth.

Jaime was getting close, intermittently moaning and holding his breath. Bronn slid his slickened fingers down and circled his hole as he continued to work him with his mouth, then pressed. His finger slid in and curled up, stroking against the firm little mound inside once, twice, again--

Jaime came with muffled groan, arm pressed against his mouth. He worked him through it, swallowing reflexively and backing off when a little high-pitched noise told him Jaime was too sensitive now. Bronn sat up, wiped his face and hands off on a rag he pulled from his pack, and took a drink of water.

Jaime was sprawled out with his right arm above his head, left hand on his still-heaving chest. He was flushed pink from collarbones to hairline. Bronn stretched out beside him and grinned when Jaime turned his head to face him.

"Properly?" Jaime asked.

Bronn grinned even wider. "That," he answered, "was how you do things _properly_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Hate it? Leave me a comment so I'll know!
> 
> Quick note on Arthur Dayne: I know there are a lot of people who really like his character, and my characterization here is rather OOC for what we're given in the books. But we don't hear much about him at all in the show, which this story is drawing more heavily from. I do apologize if it upset anyone. Personally, I think it's interesting how public figures often have facets that seem totally at odds with their public personas (like preachers who beat their wives, or philandering politicians). So I don't think it's completely out of left field to think that the best swordsman in Westeros's history, whom the Seven Kingdoms regarded as the most honorable knight ever, could also have been a selfish lover and a playboy. Just my tuppence.


	3. A Change in Terms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath, where nothing really gets resolved and more angst gets introduced, but more smut happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost felt like a bit of CH2 was mildly dubcon, except maybe not quite? So they talk about it. And when I started this fic, this chapter was supposed to be all fluff, but the angst snuck back in. Sorry, not sorry. I updated the tags as well.
> 
> I don't think Jaime ever really laughs on GoT (there was a little chuckle with Brienne when he was mocking her in the early days), but Nikolaj has like the best laugh ever, if you listen to one of his interviews on youtube. So Bronn got to hear that.

Jaime was laughing, and Bronn reveled in the sound of it. He did it so rarely, the exuberance of it was almost shocking. Bronn propped his head on his hand and watched him, feeling warm and satisfied to see Jaime relaxed and easy with himself for once.

"I'm not certain a septa would find what we just did very proper," Jaime quipped, looking up at him.  
  
"Maybe not, but a job worth doing is worth doing well. And I'm good at my work," he replied. Jaime lifted up and kissed him then, gentle and chaste. His left hand drifted down to find Bronn's open laces and the half-hard cock behind them.

"Did you want...?"

Bronn shook his head and sat up to grab his tunic and pull it back on. "It'll keep. I'm getting hungry, and I need to wash my hands before I eat. And that means going out to the creek, and it'll be gone from the cold by the time I get back." He pulled his boots back on and refastened his cloak, grabbed a sliver of soap from his bag and stepped back into the whirling whiteness. The snow was falling even harder than before and was just a hands-breadth beneath his knees.

When he got back, he knocked the snow from his boots and his cloak as before, then crawled back inside to bury himself under the furs, holding his hands under his armpits. Jaime wrapped his arms around him, and he slipped icy fingers against his chest to hear him yelp. They stayed like that for a while, not talking but sometimes making eye-contact, brushing little feathery touches across each other that weren't meant to lead to anything further.

"I didn't think I wanted you to do that, you know," Jaime said.

"Maybe I shouldn't have. I did tell you if you didn't want something, we wouldn't. But you didn't say stop, either."

"No. When you... when I sat up. I wasn't sure about it, but I thought, if this feels good, then why not see what else happens? I didn't say stop because I didn't want you to."

Bronn kissed him then, wrapping his hand around the back of Jaime's neck and taking his mouth thoroughly, possessively, pouring out every bit of feeling he could into it. He knew Jaime still had shit to work through and he knew it was too soon for them to be doing any of this and he knew he was making every bad decision he possibly could, but he wanted Jaime to keep trusting him that way, to be his, and he wanted Jaime to feel that.

When he finally caught Jaime's upper lip between his and ran his tongue just across the interior and then pulled away, Jaime's lips were nearly as red as the little silk cap he wore over his stump and he was staring up at him dazedly, eyes almost entirely black. They were both panting a little. But then Bronn's stomach made a noisy rumble, and the fact that they'd been up for a while now came back to him, and he sat up with a smile and grabbed bread and cheese and smoked sausage from the food pack.

They used Bronn's dagger to shave off slices of the sausage and cheese and it was almost like a picnic, except the bread was slightly stale, and there was no wine or mead. But it was still nice, and Bronn had a sudden thought that he could stay in a tent during a snowstorm with Jaime forever, or whisk him off to Essos and settle down somewhere warm, Pentos maybe, or better yet Lys, where the cold wouldn't bother Jaime and no one would look twice at their arrangement. They'd eat and sleep and fuck and fight, and it would be good. Or maybe Dorne, and they'd swim in the Water Gardens on an evening when all the children had left for the day. Or-

"So men, and women?" Jaime asked, taking a sip from the waterskin. "I thought for most people it was one or the other."

Bronn shrugged, dragged back into the moment, and cleared his throat. "Each have their draws," he said. "Look at Prince Oberyn. He didn't limit himself, either. Dunno exactly what he thought about it, but the person inside is what draws me... so long long as the face is pretty. I want the person, not just the bits between their legs. That's just secondary," he paused for a moment, thinking,. "Techniques are a little different, though."

Jaime nodded thoughtfully, chewing a mouthfull of bread and cheese, and when he swallowed and looked down into his lap, Bronn toyed with the knife, thinking about cutting himself another slice of cheese but he wasn't really hungry anymore and their stores had to last a few more days. He set the knife aside, near enough that Jaime could reach it if he wanted to.

"I never really wanted women," he said quietly, and Bronn looked up again. "Some of them are beautiful to look at, like a sunset or a well-fought swordfight. But they never made me feel like you do, or Arthur did, or ... I don't know how to explain it."

"Don't have to explain it," he said. "But Cersei...," and the name hung in the air between them and Jaime looked away and so Bronn flopped over onto his back, staring up at the tent, and laced his fingers across his chest.

"I said before, I loved her. I wanted her to be happy, and I gave her what she wanted," and Jaime's voice was strained, quiet, and Bronn watched from the periphery of his vision as he put the food away and stuck the dagger underneath a strap on the pack. "She's pregnant again," Jaime said quietly. "And I promised to fight for the living, and kill those things before they can kill everyone in Westeros. Before they can kill her, and our child. Even if she didn't want me to."

Bronn didn't know what to say to that. The whole thing was a mess, even worse than he'd thought, and he didn't have the slightest idea how to untangle it. The little fantasy he'd had earlier, an easy life of just the two of them together, had been blown apart in only a few spare statements. Nothing was going the way that he'd thought, except that he knew Jaime would touch him now, and that wasn't enough anymore.

"So if we defeat the army of the dead, you're going back to her?" he finally ground out.

"To her? No. I don't think you fully appreciate how mad she's become. That meeting you set up for me and Tyrion? She knew you had done it and knew that I had come to her directly afterwards to tell her. She _still_ called it a betrayal and warned me to never betray her again. She blamed _me_ for that. I tried to justify what happened at the Sept of Baelor, but truly, she's nearly as bad as Aerys. Just as paranoid, only she wanted to draw me into it. 'It's just you and me,' she said. Once, I might have believed her, but she isn't above threatening my life as well, if I don't do as she wants. No, I wouldn't return for her, but if Daenerys's dragons rain fire down on King's Landing, I don't think she'll survive. If she doesn't, my child doesn't either."

Bronn had never really wanted children. He didn't mind them, but when he thought of having them, it wasn't babies he thought of but grown heirs looking to inherit his spoils, an abstract idea that meant he'd done well for himself. He thought about how Jaime had cried when Myrcella died, how he'd retreated into himself after Tommen fell, and he quailed. 'She'll have her claws in him forever,' he thought, 'he'll do anything to keep her safe long enough to deliver, and then to keep the child safe.' They were headed north to fight against something out of campfire stories, and the Dragon Bitch would be at cross-purposes with him, and Bronn was struggling to see a way through that would leave them both alive, and Cersei's baby alive as well. 'We're fucked,' he thought. 'Completely fucked, dry as Dorne and twice as twice as vengeful.' He couldn't see a way out.

There being nothing else really to do, they napped through the early afternoon, and when Bronn woke up, Jaime was trailing his fingers across his stomach, playing with his lacings and brushing his hand against his cock, which was already straining against his breeches. Bronn wondered briefly how long he'd been at it. After their earlier conversation, he wasn't really in the mood, but Jaime approaching him this way was new, and it felt good, and he quickly decided he'd let it play out and see what the man did. He stretched a little, pretending to still be asleep, and heard the zzzzrrrrrrr of a leather thong rasping against another, the lacings being unknotted. Jaime's hand was next, warm and only slightly rough where the reins of his horse crossed his palm, but better for it as he gripped him a little too loosely and began to stroke.

Bronn couldn't resist, then. He wrapped his arm around Jaime's shoulders and pulled him against his upper chest, leaving enough space between their hips so that he could continue to work at him. "A little harder, Princess, I'm not that delicate," he growled into Jaime's ear, and followed the words with a quick swipe of his tongue. Jaime's response was immediate and satisfying: he sucked a series of kisses into Bronn's neck that had left him gasping and clamped his hand down on his cock so that it was almost too tight, but so splinteringly Jaime that Bronn could only roll a little onto his back so that he could have full access at him, thrusting up as his hand stroked his full length and back again, a thumb? brushing across the head and the foreskin sliding back and forth and Bronn thought Jaime had picked up on quite a lot that night at the Inn.

Bronn rolled fully onto his back as Jaime slipped out of his embrace and he thought he was just getting himself into a more comfortable position when he felt a warm tongue pressing against him, slicking against his slit and then swirling around, and he had a sudden flash of a girl from a decade past, couldn't have been more than ten and seven, a maid who made up in enthusiasm what she lacked in expertise. Jaime's mouth began to work against him, taking him in in small increments and sliding back and he was using his hand as well, and Bronn was pretty sure he'd never had an unpracticed blow feel as good as this. It was almost too much, no rhythm or sense to it, with his tongue drawing against the base of the head of his cock and rubbing there as Jaime explored, his lips drawing him deeper into his mouth and then back again, sliding his tongue once more against his slit, and it was all too much and he pressed his hands against Jaime's head and began to move him purposefully, trying very hard not to thrust up into his throat.

There was one sort of choked cry when he knew he had gone too far, but Jaime was still pumping his fist against him in time with his mouth and never pulled away, so he didn't worry about it too much and just let himself enjoy. Jaime was moving faster, though, and he could feel Jaime's right forearm laid across his thighs, and his hand and his mouth and he groaned as he felt everything tightening inward in preparation, tingling and on fire.

"Jaime, please, I'll spill, just do that, just like that, but if youdon'twantitinyourrrrrrrrrgh," was all he managed as Jaime gave him three hard pulls with a strange sort of twist that he wasn't sure he'd ever felt before and then Jaime was off of him, hand stroking as he spurted onto his stomach, splatting his tunic a little along the hem where it was pushed upwards.

"Seven hells," he breathed. He usually had more control than that, but whatever Jaime had just done had taken him by surprise. It took a while for his brain and his breathing to come back to normal.

Jaime was sprawled out next to him when he was finally able to look up and focus again, looking very much like the cat that got the cream. "Grab a rag for the mess," he said. "There's manners your septa never taught you, after all."

"She taught me which fork to use, and that asparagus is best eaten with my fingers unless it's sauced," Jaime said, rummaging around and coming back to swipe the spend off his stomach. "Would she say a dessert spoon for this, do you think? I don't see how a fork would work at all."

Bronn was struggling not to laugh and mostly failing, and he caught Jaime up in his arms and rolled him backwards. "C'mere, you pompous twat," he said, and kissed him, tongue grazing against Jaime's, a connection and acknowledgement, gratitude and love. A completion of the act, not the commencement of another.

"Pompous, says the man who said I was beautiful."

"You know what you look like," Bronn said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Hate it? Leave me a comment. Like TLC said in the 90s, I ain't 2 proud 2 beg. For comments. Yeah. 
> 
> Left this a bit angsty, but the fourth installment in this series should be up by the eighth or ninth of June. Working title is Snare, but that may change.


End file.
